


Overemotional

by Tarnit



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, Gore, M/M, Medical Procedures, Swearing, Twincest, possible OOC for plot sake, robot gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6337672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarnit/pseuds/Tarnit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A severe injury in battle leaves Sunstreaker's processor scrambling for a sense of normalcy. Sideswipe steps up to help his brother through the emotional challenges usually dealt with internally, but how will the Ark react to the new insights to their resident twins?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote and posted this fic years ago on FF, and, though it seemed I had abandoned it, I've revamped the first few chapters to continue from where I left off.
> 
> ::Indicates communication (comm) lines and intercom::  
> ~Indicates speech over the twins’ bond~

"Frag him, the slagging son of a glitch!” 

Sunstreaker muttered furiously to himself as he stomped towards the rec room. He was exhausted, starving, and so filthy it hurt. 

His normally pristine finish was hidden under layers of rancid, greenish-brown mud. Any gold showing was peeled, flaked, scratched, or a horrid combination of all three. He huffed heavily, trying to clear some of the thick goo from his head vents, unfortunately spraying more of mud across his faceplates instead. 

"I'm going to kill him!" 

Oh yes. He was going to pay. 

Bots scrambled to get out of his way. No one wanted to mess with Sunstreaker while he was in this vile a mood. For the most part, the enraged warrior ignored them all, acknowledging only the slower ones with a rough shove and a dangerous growl. He completely disregarded the angry grumbles left behind. As long as no one was stupid enough to say anything to his face, they would live. 

Mentally shaking himself, Sunstreaker again focused his thoughts on the double doors near the end of the hallway. Behind them, hopefully, would be the object of his ire: Sideswipe. This was his fault. His 'dear brother' and his 'hilarious' pranks. There had been more than a few mechs walking around splattered in a garish neon green, stuck like that because the Ark's replacement nanites had 'mysteriously' disappeared. 

During the search efforts, Prowl had gotten permission to inspect each personal quarters. He began with the prime suspects, where the missing containers were laying in plain sight: with Sunstreaker's art supplies. Aware of the yellow twin's artistic inclinations, Prowl was not overtly shocked at the discovery, but was led to believe both twins were responsible. The second in command gave a deaf audio to the golden frontliner's vehement protests and punished them both. Sunstreaker didn't know what happened to Sideswipe, as he himself had been immediately sent out for a double patrol shift in the foulest sector Prowl could assign. 

Miles of swamp, and hours later, Sunstreaker stood before the rec room doors, seething with rage. It definitely didn't help improve his mood searching like this. Sideswipe had blocked his side of the bond once he'd been caught. The coward. 

With a predator's patience, Sunstreaker watched the orange metal silently cycle open. Deceptively calm, he stepped into the room, fists clenched at his sides, glare taking in everything. 

It was a quiet afternoon, most mechs still on duty. Seated around one of the central, circular tables, Smokescreen was entertaining a group with a game of cards. It was obvious the gamble-happy Datsun was winning, but Blaster, Trailbreaker, and Tracks were putting up a fair fight respectively. Huffer was losing drastically, and he made sure everyone else knew his displeasure. Sunstreaker had to dial down his audios quickly so they wouldn't fritz over the minibot's high-whining vocals. 

To the left, in a booth along the wall, Jazz and Bluestreak were chatting over half empty cubes. The only others in sight were Bumblebee and Spike, who ignored the rest in favour of watching an Earth movie. 

Sunstreaker snarled wordlessly, lip curling in a sneer. There was no sign of his crimson counterpart. Minutely releasing the tension in his frame, scowl falling firmly into place, he stalked towards the energon dispenser, gracefully moving around the scattering of empty tables and chairs. May as well fix one of his problems while he was in here. Quickly filling a pink cube, Sunstreaker turned to make his exit, only to collide with a gray bundle of energy and doorwings. 

Catching himself before he fell, Bluestreak smiled up at the taller Autobot. "Oh! Sorry Sunstreaker, I didn't see you there! I was going to fill up another cube, but I guess I got distracted by thinking about what Jazz just told me. Did you know that there are a lot of famous human singers who can't actually sing? Seriously! he showed me some of their recordings, and they sound awful. But get this, everyone still loves them anyway! They use some sort of modifier when they perform or official record. It makes their voice sound all funny. Jazz said it was called 'auto tune'." 

He dragged the word out, as if tasting it for the first time. "Apparently a lot of humans love it when celebrities sing with it." Bluestreak suddenly chuckled, doorwings flicking in excitement. "I wonder if I could get Wheeljack to invent something like that for us. Wouldn't it be cool? I'm not too sure what it sounds like to be auto tuned, but it has to be awesome if Jazz thinks it's cool., right? I mean, he's -" 

"Bluestreak. Shut up." 

Startled by the other mech's voice, Bluestreak halted his ramblings. His optics cycled wide as he finally took in Sunstreaker's ragged appearance. 

"Whooa .. What happened? You look awful! And that's saying something, 'cause usually you look so perfect!" 

The Lamborghini revved his engine. "Frag off, Bluestreak," the frontliner snarled. Pushing past the stunned sniper, he almost made it to the doors before a smaller, black and white body blocked his path. 

"Hey mech, Ah know yer upset with Swipes right now, but there's no need to take it out on Blue." 

Jazz's words were light, but his visor flashed briefly in warning. Confronting the aggressive twin was always risky at best; he wasn't a mech who always responded well to verbal direction, even from a mech he trusted, like Jazz. Sunstreaker matched his stare, his own darkening with the promise of a fight. He growled low when Jazz didn't move, tightening his grip on the glowing cube until it shattered. Energon not his own erupted from his clenched fist like swiftly flowing magma, pooling on the floor near his usually immaculate pedes. 

The saboteur's optic band darkened slightly as he fell back into a ready stance, knees marginally bent and arms held in front of his face, hands curled into loose fists.

Time froze. Everyone stared openly at the duo. Nobody moved. The only sound came from the forgotten movie still playing in the background. 

Sunstreaker narrowed his optics, preparing to launch himself at the smaller bot, when the doors to the rec room opened. A group of mechs, recently come off shift, walked in talking loudly to one another. The interruption effectively distracted Sunstreaker, who shook himself slightly. Optics brightening back to their piercing cerulean, he stared at Jazz a moment longer before continuing out of the room. "Frag you too!" he snapped, without looking back. 

Jazz, who had quickly stepped aside so as to not be run over by the frontliner, now turned to face the rest of the room. He met the optics - eyes, in Spike's case - of everybot who witnessed the ordeal. One by one, they nodded to his silent reassurance, slowly returning to their previous activities. 

Stepping closer to Bluestreak, Jazz studied the younger mech. "Y'alright, Blue?" 

"Yeah, I'm good."

Jazz quirked an optic ridge at the subdued tone and slung an arm around Bluestreak's shoulders, mindful of his doorwings. "Now Ah don' watchya lettin' Sunshine's bad mood ruin yer day, OK? Ya did nothing wrong, so perk up." 

Nodding slowly, Bluestreak smiled. "So can you tell me more about auto tune now?"  
"Ah'd love to, but Ah gotta go for monitor duty soon. How 'bout we meet up after and Ah'll tell ya more 'bout it?" 

"OK! See ya later Jazz!"

The mech merely chuckled as he waved the younger off and took his own leave.

xXxXxXxXxXx

The gears in Sunstreaker's tanks clanked together loudly as he neared his and Sideswipe's shared quarters. He hadn't grabbed another cube after crushing the first. Grumbling at the added mess to his paint, he punched in the entrance code.

Entering the room, the golden twin marched past the empty berth. A quick scan had shown the rest of the room to be in the same state. Skillfully stepping over piles of Sideswipe's junk, Sunstreaker all but stormed out of their room to the communal washwracks. He was partway through his final polish when an alert sounded and Prowl’s voice rang over  
the intercom. 

::All available Autobots report to the command deck. Be prepared to roll out::

xXxXxXxXxXx

Sideswipe was whispering to Hound near the rear of the gathered crowd when a smack to the back of his helm sent him sprawling. He looked up from his place on the ground to see Sunstreaker standing above him, arms crossed. 

"Hey Streaker!"

"Don't call me that, you aft-head!"

"Awwhe, you know you love me Sunshine."

Sunstreaker just snorted and glared at Hound, who was trying valiantly not to openly snicker at the nicknames. The forest green scout was a long time friend of the twins, for many reasons they kept private from general knowledge. He was also one of the few who could escape Sunstreaker's moods unscathed. The golden twin proved this point by merely turning back to his brother. 

"Fragger. I love Soundwave more than I love you right now. Because of you, Prowl sent me through a swamp! You get no right to any nicknames after this!" The last part was snarled with a solid kick at his brother.  
The crimson warrior picked himself up, touching the abused plating tenderly and faking a wince. "Yupp. Definitely feeling that lack of love over here."

Sunstreaker was about to retort with another insult, when Jazz sauntered up. He was followed closely by Mirage, Bluestreak, Brawn, and Cliffjumper. "C'mon you three, enough fun'n games. Everyone's leavin' ahlready."

Sideswipe nudged his twin, smiling wide. "Let's go, oh brother of mine. We mustn’t keep the Decepticreeps waiting!"

With a half-crazed cackle, he transformed and sped after the moving dust cloud of Autobots.  
Sunstreaker shook his helm, muttering something about 'idiot twin brothers you couldn't get rid of',  
before transforming and racing to catch up to his other half.

xXxXxXxXxXx 

The drive to the S.O.S. location was relatively short, but felt like an eternity to the twins who were speeding up and slowing down in a haphazard manner. As soon as the Decepticons were within scanner range, however, they fell back into formation behind Jazz. Their ETA was about two minutes when sudden laser fire rained from above, as the Command Trine made a pass at scattering the approaching caravan. 

Prowl transformed and took cover behind a gathering of boulders with Bluestreak; the younger mech was reliable back-up to have nearby while he analyzed the battle. Peering over the slightly charred rock, the Autobot’s tactician quickly scanned the area. 

The power plant the Decepticons had targeted was backed against a cliff twice its height, miles of barren desert sprawled before it. The sun beat down with a savage heat, draining the will to do anything from surrounding organics. In the distance, he could make out the humans' retreating vehicles. 

Glancing back, Prowl noted the Contructicons were present, along with Soundwave and the already noted Seeker trine. Megatron was nowhere in sight, but it wouldn’t be long before he sought out Optimus Prime.

Battle computer running over multiple scenarios, Prowl settled on a plan with an 80% success rate and the lowest possible number of casualties. Efficiently directing the Autobots into position, Prowl watched as the Decepticons eagerly met the challenge head on. 

Racing up the sloped cliffside, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were heading into position for their signature attack. 

~I call Skywarp this time! I have some new moves I want to try out on him!~  
~You can have him, as long as you don't touch Screamer. I want to get back at that fragger for ruining my new wax in the last battle!~ 

~Some idiots never learn, do they Streaker?~

~You're one to talk!~

Sideswipe didn't respond, as they were nearing the cliff edge. If the two had been in root mode, they would have been wearing sadistic grins that matched the feral glee humming strongly through their now open bond. Throwing themselves into empty space, the twins transformed in mid-air, and landed heavily on their predetermined rides. 

Gripping Starscream’s red and white wings tightly, Sunstreaker yelled over the roar of the wind.  
"Slagger! This is for my paint job!" He brutally dug his fingers into delicate seems and tore at the sensitive wires beneath the plating. Smirking, he simply took a moment to enjoy the sound of the Seeker's agonized screams. 

Sunstreaker's gaze was drawn to the side by a frustrated whine and a loud whoop of triumph. He sent a pulse of amusement to his twin when he spotted Sideswipe's antics. The crimson twin was lying flat on his abdominal plating on Skywarp's back. Without warning, he would bring a knee down sharply on one wing, causing the purple Seeker to go into a series of barrel rolls. As  
he pulled straight again, Sideswipe would - and Sunstreaker hadn't a clue how - force the disorientated teleporter’s systems to fire on his own comrades. Some of the ground based Decepticons even fired back before they realized what was happening. 

Satisfied his brother was alright, Sunstreaker brought his attentions back to a very unfortunate  
Starscream. As the battle raged on below them, a stray shot struck the cliff, and a thunderous avalanche rumbled down the mountain side. Autobots and Decepticons alike diverged in an instinct of self preservation, retreating a safe distance away from the monstrous sized boulders.

When the sound of falling rocks silenced, both factions turned to face each other, only to be confronted with a thick, blinding wall of dust. Without their sight, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker found themselves with their lives in the hands . . . wings . . . of the Seekers they had been tormenting. 

~Streaker, what do we do?~ Sideswipe sent a pulse of apprehension with his words.  
Sunstreaker returned a strong pulse of confidence and determination. 

~Just hang on tight. We’ll have wait for the dust to pass.~ 

The pair were so focused on simply staying balanced, they stopped terrorizing Starscream and Skywarp. They never noticed said Seekers coordinating their movements and flying closer to one another. Once the two Decepticons were a few meters apart, they prepared themselves and shut off their audio receptors.  
Out of the haze before them, Thundercracker appeared, flying towards them. As he passed between his trine mates, he released a deafening sonic boom that echoed throughout the battlefield. The blast effectively dispersed the remainder of the airborne debris. Everybot on the ground froze mid-punch, taunt, or shot to stare upwards when they heard twin screams - one of shock, the other of agony. 

The Autobots now had a clear view of the twins and could only watch in horror. Sideswipe had been the one who cried out in panic and had unintentionally loosened his grip on  
Skywarp's wings. Taking advantage of this, the Seeker rolled sharply, dislodging the red warrior’s excess weight from his back. Sideswipe was only in free fall a few moments before his twin's pain shot through their bond and kick started his processors again. Initializing his jet pack, he brought his rapid descent to a halt a few body lengths from the ground. His jet pack sputtered a few times before shutting off completely from a lack of fuel. Sideswipe collapsed, shaken but relatively unharmed, in the dirt. 

Sunstreaker was not so lucky. 

The resounding roar from Thundercracker's thrusters had severely damaged golden mech’s dual purpose head fins. Acting predominantly as a ventilation system, they also doubled as precision sensory appendages. Much the same as doorwings, they were extremely sensitive to changes in his environment - especially air pressure. The shock wave from the blue Seeker's sonic blast had torn through refined panels and ripped apart the delicate relays connected to his central processor. The pain was excruciating. 

He felt his vocals stutter with static as he howled is suffering to the world. Releasing Starscream, Sunstreaker grasped both head fins, energon bleeding out between his fingers, as he fell towards the Earth. 

Starscream, seeking revenge, transformed and fired both null rays point blank. The shots struck the golden frontliner in the center of his back and propelled him face first into the cliff wall. Still partially conscious, Sunstreaker rebounded and dropped like a dead weight. Gravity forced him to fall back down, lanky limbs fluttering limply above him. 

He hit the ground shoulders, neck, and helm first. The rest of his body folded out eagle spread around him, buried slightly in the miniature crater he had created. The last thing Sunstreaker registered was Sideswipe shouting his name - over the bond and out loud - and screaming for Ratchet. Then the darkness took over, and he knew no more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ::Indicates communication (comm) lines and intercom::  
> ~Indicates speech over the twins’ bond~

“Sunstreaker!”

Sideswipe’s cry was lost in the chaos of the battlefield. The Decepticons had taken advantage of the Autobot’s shock and engaged their distracted counterparts with renewed vigor. 

Picking himself up quickly, he stumbled slightly, swaying on his feet. The world around him spun in dizzying circles, making it impossible to focus. His tanks lurched aggressively and the crimson mech found himself on his hands and knees, purging under processed energon from his systems. 

Shuffling backwards, Sideswipe fought back several dry heaves, taking deep breaths through his vents. Frag Thundercracker! Those slagging sonic blasts fried his equilibrium circuits. Sideswipe grasped a nearby boulder, using it to pull himself to his feet at a much slower pace. 

The disorientated Lamborghini took a careful step, then another. He held his arms out to the sides in an effort to keep his balance. Moving at an awkward stumble, Sideswipe finally stopped next to the unmoving golden frame. 

He dropped to his knees, causing a small splash in the glowing pool of energon surrounding Sunstreaker’s body. Shuffling nearer to the obsidian helm, the scarlet twin hesitantly reached towards shattered cheek plates. His trembling hands froze, hovering just above Sunstreaker’s face. 

There was so much energon; staining everything it touched a sickening shade of pink. It was leaking heavily from underneath the yellow mech, likely the nasty result of Starscream’s null rays. Visibly worse were Sunstreaker’s helm fins. The sensory appendages were nothing more than mangled circuitry. Sparking wires poured outwards to fuse with the twisted yellow metal that formed the vents. The interior workings had shut off, unable to cycle air through the butchered mess. 

Energon still trickled out, carving minuscule rivers across Sunstreaker’s once handsome face plates. The pale gray features had been warped and crumpled, and the golden chest plates ripped open by the cliff face. The spark chamber was torn along the side, an iridescent blue glow from the frontliner’s spark peering through. A major energon line had been compromised and the fluorescent liquid was flooding Sunstreaker’s vital components. Amazingly, the levels hadn’t raised high enough to reach the tear in the spark housing unit. 

Sideswipe began to panic. 

“Ratchet!” he screamed, voice hoarse, “Ratchet! Streaker’s hurt! Get over here now!” 

Sideswipe finally reached down and cupped the crushed faceplates in his palms. Moving slowly, he didn’t want to cause more pain for his unconscious twin, he placed Sunstreaker’s helm in his lap. The kneeling warrior anxiously noted the irregular drip of energon now coating his thighs. 

He rubbed careful circles across the twisted planes of Sunstreaker’s cheek plating and shuttered his optics. Sideswipe reached out with his spark, searching for his other half through their bond. His brother’s side was faint, a weak pulse that was fading fast. The red twin latched onto it, feeding strength to his comatose brother. He called out over the bond, pleading with the golden warrior. 

~Streaker…Streaker! Come on Sunstreaker, you’re stronger than this! Don’t do this to me bro, don’t leave me. Streaker keep fighting, please, I don’t want to lose you!~ 

Sideswipe repeated the mantra, using it as a lifeline. It didn’t register in his processor when he began hysterically shouting the words aloud. 

A sharp pain in his chest cut Sideswipe off mid-cry. His optics snapped open, gaze vacant and unseeing. He released Sunstreaker’s face with one hand, keeping the other firmly in place, and grasped the plating directly over his spark chamber. A second, stronger, pulse had him clawing at his own armor. A high pitched keen forced its way past parted lips. 

Sideswipe stared down in horror as Sunstreaker’s armor began to gray in patches. He released his brother’s face, grabbing his chest with both hands. Shuttering his optics again, he gasped in pain as their twin sparks began to fade. 

Strong arms were suddenly around Sideswipe’s waist, pulling the red mech flush against a broad chassis. He locked his hip and knee joints, keeping Sunstreaker’s helm in place, and twisted his upper body. His fingers scrabbled uselessly against the other’s arm plating. Sideswipe’s struggle ended abruptly when another spark pulse left him weak and gasping. 

Finally opening his optics, the crimson Autobot was surprised to see Ratchet with his hands buried in Sunstreaker’s chest. The medic looked up at the conscious twin. Sideswipe shook his head, beginning to hyperventilate. Ratchet’s mouth was moving, but he wasn’t saying anything. There was no sound. 

The CMO cursed and turned his gaze to the mech behind the frontliner. 

“Wheeljack, keep him calm and close to Sunstreaker, their sparks are too weak to handle any more stress. Frag it all, I am not losing them!”

Not waiting for a response, Ratchet returned his focus to the golden Lamborghini. He had sealed the torn fuel line, and any similar lacerations to the smaller surrounding tubes. Transforming his right arm into a medical vacuum, Ratchet bent closer to his patient. He worked quickly, but carefully, moving cables and wires to reach the buried corners in Sunstreaker’s chest. The holding tank in Ratchet’s limb was heavy when he finally pulled away. 

Retracting an IV line from his wrist, he directly infused his own energon into Sunstreaker’s tanks. With the danger of bleeding out now eliminated, the medic turned his ministrations to the damaged spark chamber. The white mech delicately welded a field patch pulled from subspace over the breach, hiding the fragile orb from the outside world once more. 

Ratchet growled as he ran another scan over his patient’s body. Sunstreaker was stable, the gray slowly receding from the golden frame, but he needed the highly tuned equipment in the med bay if he wanted to avoid irreparable damage to the warrior’s core processor. 

Ratchet glanced to Wheeljack and Sideswipe. The Lancia kept his grip tight around the Lamborghini, soothingly stroking the trembling warrior’s upper arm plating and murmuring words of comfort. As the twins’ sparks stabilized, Sideswipe slowly began to renew his struggles, his optics locked on Sunstreaker. 

“’Jack.” 

Wheeljack looked up at the sound of his nickname. A silent conversation passed between the two long time friends, before the engineer carefully released the distressed twin. Sideswipe stilled for a moment, as if surprised he was no longer being restrained. He leaned forward slowly and reached for his brother. One golden hand was grasped between matching ebony and held reverently against a pale cheek plate. 

“Ratchet...”

Ratchet paused his field repairs, shooting a glance at Sideswipe. It broke the medic’s spark to hear the boisterous mech sound so quiet and fragile.

“Yes?” His tone, while still gruff, was softer than usual. 

“Is Streaker gonna be OK?” 

Ratchet didn’t respond. He finished welding the final patch over the helm crests and stood, transforming into his ambulance alt mode. 

“Jack, help Sideswipe load up Sunstreaker, then stay here. You have medical command.” It was left unspoken that Sideswipe would accompany the medic back to the Ark. 

Sideswipe tore his gaze away from his twin to scan the desert around the power plant. He hadn’t realized the battle was over. The Decepticons were retreating specks in the sky and the Autobot’s were regrouping around Prime. The crimson warrior nodded his head in consent, though Ratchet could not see him from his position kneeling behind the ambulance. 

Sideswipe cradled Sunstreaker’s helm in the crook of his arm, wrapping the other gently around the golden body. Wheeljack grabbed the lanky legs at the knee. The engineer’s indicators flashed as he spoke. 

“On three then. One…two...”

They easily lifted the unconscious warrior into the air. Energon dripped from the scorched back, meeting the still puddle below. Sideswipe leaned over his brother’s frame once he had been carefully maneuvered into the medic. He grasped Sunstreaker’s hand once more and gave it a brief squeeze. 

“You’re gonna be OK Streaks,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the torn knuckles. 

Backing away, Sideswipe closed the white doors. Ratchet honked once, before speeding into the desert, towards the Ark. Sideswipe was about to follow when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked at Wheeljack and the other’s optics crinkled slightly at the corners, indicating his small smile for the frontliner. 

“Hey,” the engineer patted the plating beneath his hand, helm fins glowing a soft periwinkle, “Sunstreaker will be just fine. Ratchet’s the best there is.” 

Sideswipe released a weary sigh from his vents. “I know that ‘Jack, it’s just...” I’m scared. “. . . I can’t help but be worried.” I’m terrified of losing him. “He’s my brother,” My other half. “We’re always there for each other.” What if I can’t help him this time?

Stepping away, Sideswipe shrugged off the black hand. He transformed quickly to hide his stumble. He didn’t want Wheeljack to know there was a problem with his equilibrium circuits or the medic-trained engineer wouldn’t let him drive after Sunstreaker until he was repaired. 

The Lamborghini gunned his engine, rear end swerving side to side, spraying a gritty dust cloud at the mech behind him. His tires finally found traction and he raced to catch up with his injured twin and the medic carrying him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detailed medical procedure ahead, though it is operating on a robotic lifeform. Please approach this chapter warily if doctors and/or surgery descriptions make you uncomfortable. 
> 
> ::Indicates communication (comm) lines and intercom::  
> ~Indicates speech over the twins’ bond~

Sideswipe stayed close to Ratchet's bumper the entire drive back to the Ark, easily keeping pace with the ambulance. His equilibrium imbalance was, thankfully, stabilized somewhat by his car form's closer proximity to the ground, allowing him to maintain the frenzied pace. 

The pair didn't slow once they reached the Autobot base. Instead, they sped through the vacant halls and slammed to a skidding halt within the medbay. First Aid was waiting outside one of the two private operating rooms, having been comm'd ahead by Ratchet to prepare one for emergency surgery.

Hurriedly stepping around his mentor’s vehicle form, the medic in training opened the white double doors and froze. His visor and mask hid the horrified expression at the sight of Sunstreaker's mutilated frame, though his field flared with aching dismay. Attempting to regain his professional composure, First Aid released a deep sigh and tried to disassociate his feelings from the situation. This was just another frame that needed repairing. He could do this. Opening optics he hadn't realized he had shuttered, the young mech could not contain a shiver. 

Leaning over Sunstreaker, First Aid was about to lift the frontliner's much larger frame, upgraded joints designed for these situations, when a pair of black hands was suddenly next to his own. Sideswipe gently nudged the Protectobot out of his way. 

"Let me."

The red mech carefully lifted the golden frame out of Ratchet and hugged him close to his chassis. Carrying Sunstreaker bridal style, he moved briskly into the private room. Unspoken prayers were answered as his equilibrium circuits allowed him to remain standing. Laying his spark brother reverently onto the med berth, Sideswipe was reluctant to step away. The decision was taken from him, however, when Ratchet pushed him out of the way to stand more firmly at Sunstreaker's side. 

Sideswipe's world became a blur, his circuits unable to handle the sudden, aggressive motion. He sat down hard on his aft to prevent purging what precious little remained in his tanks. Ratchet gaped down at the red mech; he hadn't used that much force to move the frontliner out of the way. Running a quick scan, his shock gave way to irritation. 

"Glitch! Your equilibrium center is fried worse than Megatron's core processor!" Turning back to Sunstreaker, the medic removed the golden chest plates and began to check the repaired lines for any signs of stress. "First Aid," he called without looking away, "Take this idiot out to the main 'bay; then I'll need you back here to monitor Sunstreaker's processor while I operate."

Sideswipe, hunched over with his helm between his knees, was only vaguely aware of Ratchet's voice before there was a firm grip on his upper arm. First Aid gently pulled him to his feet and walked him to the door. Sideswipe tried to resist, but with most of his weight being supported by the junior medic, and his tanks still churning dangerously, the effort was embarrassingly weak and useless. Easing the older mech onto the nearest berth, First Aid skillfully unlatched a medical port and injected a mild sedative before any stronger protests could be made. 

Ratchet was beginning to reopen the temporary patches from the helm fins when First Aid slipped back into the room. "I gave Sideswipe a level four sedative. He shouldn't be bothering us anytime soon."

"Good," the elder medic grunted. "Lock the door; I don't want to chance any other interruptions."

First Aid swiftly complied before moving to stand on the other side of Sunstreaker's berth. Glancing up from his work, Ratchet nodded to some of the equipment in the small room. "Hook up an energon drip, a spark monitor, and the stasis inducer. He's out right now, but I don't want him waking up during the surgery."

As he deposited the final patch onto a nearby trolley, the chief medic's audios were graced with a steady beeping sound. Studying the screen, Ratchet noted, with no small amount of relief, that Sunstreaker's spark had remained stable, despite being weaker than usual. 

Glancing over at his protégé, Ratchet grimaced. "Alright First Aid, consider this a crash course on repairing finer processor damage. We'll revisit in more detail later. Now, unfortunately, I can't let you observe the entire procedure first hand, as you'll be watching the monitors, but I will walk you through it verbally."

First Aid nodded. "Where do we start?"

Leaning down again, Ratchet reached around the back of Sunstreaker's helm, searching for the hidden clasps that connected it to his cranial unit. "I'll need to get this off so I can hook up the neural scanner; that's the smaller monitor over there." The younger medic quickly wheeled the machine to Ratchet's side of the berth. Easily locating the connecting cables, he held them out for the other. 

Ratchet, however, was still fumbling with Sunstreaker's helm. He had gotten the clasps open, but the protective metal would not slide off. Running sensitive hands behind the helm fins, he discovered a deep dent crushed into the side of the warrior's head. Reaching back, the CMO grabbed the pressure powered dent remover from a second trolley. Securing one end over the dent, he eased the metal into its original shape in a well practiced motion. A small pop indicated its release. Tugging once more, he smoothly slid off the black helm. 

As Ratchet twisted to place it out of the way, he gave First Aid a clear view of Sunstreaker's upper body. The young mech stared down in morbid fascination. He has seen many bots without their helms, but never Sunstreaker. The golden warrior looked downright strange. His fins did not detach with the rest of the helm, and, so, looked obscenely huge against the fragile circuitry of his processor. 

"Alright ‘Aid, you can pass me those connectors now." 

Mentally shaking away the distracting thoughts, First Aid did as he was told and moved back into his designated position before the monitors, listening as Ratchet began.   
"The medical ports for this scanner are generally found superior to the audio receptors, but some frame types differ from this. Fortunately for us, you can always locate them by the red ring surrounding the entrance.”

Locking the cables into place, Ratchet inspected the monitor. He muttered to himself, tracing a finger along a few of the moving lines. After a short moment, he turned to First Aid. 

"This red one," Ratchet pointed to the top reading, "displays a general processor scan. Fluctuations here will be an easy way to identify any major changes to a patient's meta. Keep in mind, however, that by the time this transmits a problem, it may already be too late. Continuously check it for reference, but keep your optics on these three." Ratchet moved his finger down the screen, passing lines of a low pulsing blue, a sporadic yellow, and a spiraling green. "Top to bottom they represent the motor relays, the personality matrix, and the neural-conduit, Let me know the moment you spot the slightest changes, of any kind."

With that, the senior medic bent over Sunstreaker's exposed processor with a small laser scalpel. "Though not many bots have helm fins such as Sunshine here, this procedure is very similar to repairing common helm vents. Just carefully slice away any metal fused with the internal workings, making sure you don't further damage the wiring."   
Transforming a few fingers into surgical tools used for more delicate operations, he began prodding within the sensory fins. 

"The circuitry in these is mostly fried. Thankfully the wires are easily replaceable. His sensors will be slightly fuzzy for a few days until his body can integrate the new parts, but there should be no lasting damage." Thank Primus. Deftly removing the frayed wires, Ratchet just as skillfully replaced the damaged components.

"Sir, the neural readings have begun to slow down and straighten out."

"Good. That's just his processor sorting itself out without all this haywire input glitching things up," Ratchet explained as he placed a support underneath Sunstreaker's neck to keep the warrior's helm propped up. 

Kneeling to see better without displacing any monitor cables, the elder medic felt around the area the dent had occupied. "That dent was deep. The extended amount of exposure the circuitry suffered to the heavy pressure is going to cause some problems for his motor relays. I can't tell how, exactly, but there's nothing I can do about it now. We’ll have to see what the consequences are when he wakes up and deal with them then." 

Pulling away, Ratchet ran a final scan across the exposed processor.

"Hmm." Frowning, the white mech entered a series of codes into Sunstreaker's meta. Glancing down, First Aid's optics widened to their highest setting as he watched the black lining surrounding the helm fins separated with a hiss. They opened to reveal a molten mess of fused circuitry at the base of each side. 

"Umm, Ratchet? What is that?" 

"Bad news." 

Looking at his assistant, Ratchet elaborated, "That, 'Aid, was a section of Sunstreaker's emotional hub. Specifically, the part of his processor that allowed him to choose how he acted upon any given feeling." 

"And now it's slagged," First Aid whispered.

Ratchet sighed, "The most I can do is remove what's been damaged so it can't cause further harm. Wheeljack can build a new one to Sunstreaker’s design specs, but I'm going to need Perceptor's help for the actual replacement surgery, and he's currently stationed on Cybertron." At First Aid's confused look, he continued, “He has better specialized training with these types of repairs than I do." 

First Aid nodded slightly, then frowned behind his mask, "Ratchet, why was the circuitry only fried in his fins, but this looks like Bruticus crushed it in his fist before throwing it into the smelter?" 

"Because of how these fins were designed to work. They're sensory appendages, meant to receive data and organize it, before sending it to various parts of Sunstreaker's processor. When Thundercracker activated his sonic blast, the sensors were overwhelmed and sent everything to the nearest portion of Sunstreaker's meta at once." Ratchet gestured to what remained of the emotional hub, his expression becoming contemplative. "There's a failsafe in place here that stopped the electrical charge from travelling throughout the rest of his processor. I'm not certain how it works, but that little bit of circuitry saved Sunstreaker from having the processing power of a drone." 

First Aid stared at his mentor in horrified silence for a moment before they returned to saving a life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ::Indicates communication (comm) lines and intercom::  
> ~Indicates speech over the twins’ bond~

Sideswipe lay on the medberth, attempting to focus on the orange ceiling. He frowned at the offending colour. Why didn’t Hoist or Grapple paint it something that was easier on the optics? A nice shade of red would have been better. Sideswipe snickered. Half the Autobot crew would disappear like chameleons. 

How could he see anyway? His world should be dark by now. Hadn’t First Aid shut him down into stasis? 

Sideswipe’s frown deepened. No, that wasn’t right. 

He was positive the younger mech was in the rec room with the others, indulging in some post victory high grade. Probably singing too. Sideswipe grinned; ever the life of the party, that one. Besides, there was no reason for the junior medic to be in the twins’ quarters, especially if Sunny was ‘charging on the bunk above him. 

Wait, he was staring at the ceiling, not the bottom of his brother’s berth. 

Where was he? 

Those tiles looked familiar … the medbay! Sunstreaker!

Scrambling to sit up, Sideswipe only succeeded in twitching his arm before his processor was once more lost within the fog of the sedative. He wove a mental trail in and out of reality before a distant clattering snagged his wavering focus. Tilting his helm up, Sideswipe squinted through hazy optics at the multiple moving blobs. He grinned sloppily, still struggling with control over his systems. 

“Oh hey guysh,” he slurred, “Wut’r yur doin’ her?”

His smile disappeared when none of the blobs acknowledged him. 

“Aww don be like ‘at. I thought we wash palsshh.”

Sideswipe let his helm fall back with a dull clang, too medicated to register any pain the motion may have garnered. 

“Fine. Be tha’ay.” 

Unclear voices drifted through his audios, but Sideswipe pointedly faced away from them, childishly deciding that two could play at the silent treatment. Turning off his optics to ignore the insulting faces the wall panels were making at him, Sideswipe did not see a blob break away from the others and make its way over to finally send him blissfully offline.   
When Sideswipe onlined his optics again, the first thing he registered was an extremely irritating itch on his arm plating. Reaching over to scratch, the red mech was surprised when he felt something sticking out of a transformation seam. Looking down, he was met with the sight of a spiraling trail of tubing connecting him to a container of fluorescent energon. Optics flickering in confusion, Sideswipe pushed himself up on his elbows – almost falling back again when he realized he was in the med bay.

The only other occupants of the room lay on two of the other berths. Tracks was closest to the ruby warrior, in deep stasis and missing his left leg from the waist. Blaster was farther down the row, also unconscious. Sideswipe couldn’t see any obvious damage, but there did appear to be some discolouration around the other red mech’s throat.   
Besides the methodical beeping of the patients’ monitors, the repair bay was hauntingly silent. 

Sideswipe frowned, but why was he here? He hadn’t pulled any dangerous stunts – by his standards – recently. And where was Sunstreaker? One brother always stayed with the other when – He gasped and sat up completely, thoughts of Sunstreaker flooding his processor with memories of the last battle. 

He looked around frantically for any sign of his other half. There was none. Delving into their bond, he discovered Sunstreaker was nearby, but offline. Sideswipe’s optics narrowed in on one of the ICU room doors. There. 

Reaching over, he unplugged his medical monitor before disconnecting it from his frame. Expertly tying the energon drip tubing into a sturdy knot near the base of the bag, he withdrew it from his protoform. Excess liquid dribbled out slowly, forming a glowing puddle next to the berth. Standing carefully, Sideswipe began tip-toeing towards where he sensed his spark twin. 

He had only moved a handful of steps when a stern, “Where do you think you’re going?” made him freeze. He cringed, fully expecting a wrench to connect with the back of his helm. When no flying tools were forthcoming, he turned questioningly. 

A boxy frame stood in the doorway, forest green instead of white. Sideswipe straightened from his defensive hunch and turned his back to the tracker, striding towards the ICU room once more. 

“To get my brother.” 

A heavy weight on his shoulder stopped him again. He glared at the black hand, growling deep from his engine, but the other mech refused to move it. 

“Let. Go.”

“No.” The grip tightened. “Ratchet’s still operating in there, you shouldn’t disturb him.”

Sideswipe whirled around, lashing out and knocking Hound’s arm away. 

“Disturb him? Ratchet should be begging me to stay in there!” He kept his voice low for the other patients, but it would only take one small push for him to start yelling. 

Hound also stayed quiet, though his tone remained calm, “Sideswipe, we both know you wouldn’t be able to stay out of the way.” Reaching out once more for the warrior, he stilled his hand just above the red plating. “Come on, you can wait in my quarters until Ratchet’s done.”

Sideswipe grit his denta, stubbornly refusing to move. His helm tilted down slightly, but he maintained optic contact with Hound.

Sunstreaker needed him, he couldn’t desert his brother. What if he deactivated while Sideswipe was kept away? Sure, they would join the Matrix together, but neither twin wanted the other to take that terrifying plunge alone. Ratchet was in there, though, and he had never let them down before.

Then again, there was a first time for everything. 

Seeing his friend’s dilemma reflected in his optics, Hound grasped the mech’s forearm. “He’s going to be fine Sides,” the scout tightened his grip reassuringly, “Please?”

Sideswipe tensed at the touch, shifting his glare to the offending limb. 

Quietly, Hound added, “You don’t want to get thrown in the brig, even farther from Sunstreaker, do you?”

The warrior shuttered his optics, clenching his jaw. No, he didn’t want that to happen, but he didn’t want to leave either. 

“Sideswipe, look at me.” 

Maybe it was the long history he had with the scout, or maybe his processor was still scrambled from the sedative, but something in Hound’s tone made the frontliner comply with the soft spoken order. His usually cheerful and mischief filled optics were hazed with pain and concern. 

“I promise you that Sunstreaker will get through this, that you will see your brother as soon as he’s out of surgery. Just, please, come try to rest until then.” 

The tension in Sideswipe’s frame held strong, before it began to incrementally creep away, until only a weary warrior remained before the scout who had never broken a promise.   
“Okay.”

With Hound taking him by the arm, Sideswipe let himself be pulled away from his other half, silently promising them both he would return as soon as he could. The crimson twin didn’t register his surroundings as he was led through the empty halls, distracted by trying to connect with his brother through their bond. They paused for a moment as Hound typed in his door code, then Sideswipe was herded into the room and directed to sit on the berth. The cold touch of the metal broke him from his trance-like state. Glancing around, Sideswipe looked to Hound, who was standing at the edge of the berth near his knee. 

“Trailbreaker has monitor duty tonight, so feel free to stay as long as you want.” The green mech pressed against Sideswipe’s shoulder until he was completely reclined. “Try to ‘charge a little, I’ll be over on ‘Breaker’s berth if you need anything.”

As Hound moved to pull away, a hand shot out and grabbed ahold of his wrist. He jumped, startled, staring at Sideswipe, who looked equally as shocked at his own movement. Recovering first, Sideswipe whispered, “No … don’t … you don’t have to … I don’t want to kick you out of your own berth,” he finished pathetically. Hound saw through the ruse immediately. Nudging the larger warrior to the side, he climbed onto his berth and reclined against the wall, waistline resting on the pillows. Pulling a bookfile from subspace, he looked down, amusement dancing in his optics.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to be the cause of more stress for you. Think you’ll be able to recharge if I sit up here and read for a bit?” 

Sideswipe stared at his friend, mouth agape. “B-b-but Hound, I –“ 

The green tracker cut off the stuttering by gently grabbing the other’s hand. “Sideswipe, please, just relax. For Sunstreaker? He’s going to need you when he’s repaired and you won’t be able to help him in anyway if you’re running low on energy.” 

The lone twin shook his head desperately. “Hound, he needs me, right now. He doesn’t feel right in here.” He absently touched the armor above his spark chamber, staring blankly ahead at the wall over Trailbreaker’s berth. There were black scuffs there from where the boxy mech had hit in his recharge. Setting his datapad on his lap, Hound focused his attention on his friend as Sideswipe continued in a detached voice, “In the battle today, after Sunny got hit, I felt his spark start to fade. We were dying, Hound.” The warrior shuddered, hand rubbing over his armor in an attempt at self-comfort. “It was like when we merge, only more intense. Our sparks felt like they were finally becoming one mech instead of two halves.” Sideswipe let out a pained whimper. “Now there’s something between us, blocking him from me. It’s like I’m trying to get to him on the other side of a busy room but the crowd is keeping us apart and they’re too loud to yell over. I know he’s there, I just can’t see him." His voice had fallen to a whisper as he spoke.

Hound grasped the hand over Sideswipe’s spark chamber with his own, enveloping it with a gentle squeeze. He nudged the large mech back into a lying position and ran his fingers soothingly over sensitive helm horns. 

“That was a serious hit he took, he’s probably subconsciously trying to protect you from any secondary pain. You, of all mechs, know how tough his protective streak is. Watch, when Ratchet brings him online again the first thing he’ll do is ask about you. Then scare everyone out of the washracks for a few hours,” he added with a grin. “Now, recharge Swipes, we’ll visit Sunstreaker when you wake up.”

Numb, Sideswipe complied without another protest. Resting his cheek on a gray thigh, the normally brash frontliner curled meekly around Hound’s legs, desperate for contact. He sighed at the comforting strokes to his helm.

Offlining his optics, Sideswipe’s last thought was of Sunstreaker’s graying frame, before the stress caught up to his systems and he dropped into unconsciousness.


End file.
